Two hundred twenty one B
by KaizokuShojo
Summary: My contribution to the 221B challenge. Beware...some are quite random. Updated as ideas strike me.
1. Box

_**221B**_

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_**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Sherlock Holmes or any of the affiliated characters or ideas--their creator is the remarkable Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.**_

**KS: Hullo, this is for KCS's 221B challenge. I'm on the bandwagon now, too! I did this while brainstorming the next chapter of _On the Streets of Pari_s, so I'm not wasting time. xD **

**Enjoy! **

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I lay in my bed, my lips cracked and dry. I refused the water so near to my bed. I could _feel_ myself dying of dehydration. Three days was the limit for a normal man without fluid…This was the day things had to be done.

I hadn't eaten in three days, either, which wasn't such a difficult thing normally…but without tobacco to kill the appetite, it was much, much more difficult.

And how I wanted a smoke!

But I could not have one.

Mrs. Hudson was good enough to fetch Watson; I hear them upon the stair. I made myself look as miserable as possible. I groaned listlessly with pain as my dearest friend entered. I felt quite poor, and with the makeup and weight loss, I knew I looked frightful. I saw the worry strike Watson's countenance.

"Stay away! For God's sake, stay away!" I cry.

My friend obeys. I tell him to wait. At six I will explain what I wish him to do. He thinks me delirious, as is well, but he waits.

He is bored, and wanders the room. He goes to my mantelpiece, sees the dread item, and his hand reaches out to take up the curiosity.

My heart nearly stops. A flash of fear sears through me.

"For God's sake, Watson!! Don't touch that box!!"

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**KS: Thanks for reading, please, review! **


	2. Blood

_**221b**_

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_**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Sherlock Holmes or any of the affiliated characters or ideas--their creator is the remarkable Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.**_

**KS: Hullo, this is the next one of my collection for KCS's 221B challenge. It's not based on any story, really, but it's easy to tell what's going on.**

**I hope you like it!**

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I sat at my desk, writing a new account of one of my dear friend Sherlock Holmes's cases. It was confoundedly hard going, as I had to be discreet about many of the details, so illustrious was the client that had been the centre of it all. But, I felt that it was one that must at least be put into writing while the facts were fresh. I could always put it away until later if I thought the world was still not ready for it.

Holmes was himself out on some small inquiry. I had wanted to join him, but he assured me that there was no danger.

"_If there was_," he had said, "_I would not dream of stirring without you_."

That still did not keep me from worrying about him, for the enemy on this case was indeed a cold-hearted man. But, my writings soon took my mind from it.

I chewed at the end of my pen thoughtfully. I turned my head when I heard the sitting-room door open.

My friend walked in, and immediately I knew something was amiss.

His face was deathly pale and mottled with bruises, and his chest heaved with every breath.

But what worried me the most is what I saw next on his head as he collapsed to the floor, insensible…

Blood.

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**KS: Thanks for reading, please, review! **


	3. Bandages

_**221b**_

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_**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Sherlock Holmes or any of the affiliated characters or ideas--their creator is the remarkable Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.**_

**KS: Hullo, this is the next instalment of my collection for KCS's 221B challenge. **

**I wrote the last one with absolutely no intention of continuing it…but a couple of people really want more. Goodness, you people are exacting. xD**

**But really, I'm happy to oblige.**

**I hope you like it!**

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I had no idea what had happened. I sprang from my chair and dashed over to where my friend now lay. I undid his collar and gave him some brandy, getting him just conscious enough that I could get him over to the sofa. He collapsed again there, barely conscious and muttering with a pained voice, and I began to check his injuries.

His head was bleeding in the back, though it seemed to have slowed, for the blood was somewhat clotted in his hair. His lip was burst, and he had a great bruise on his jaw, not to mention the other smaller ones on his face and the ones I found on his ribs and back.

It was obvious that he had been beaten. I fetched my bag and set to work immediately.

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When I awoke, I was aware of a terrible, nauseating pain. My ribs and stomach ached, and my head was pounding with every heartbeat. A thin layer of sweat covered me, the product of the pain while I slept.

Where was I? I looked about. Baker Street? How did I get here? I tried to sit up, but my head spun and I was obliged to lie back down. I was then aware of something on my head. I reached up and gingerly touched it.

Bandages.

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**KS: Thanks for reading, please, review! **


	4. Boswell

_**221b**_

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_**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Sherlock Holmes or any of the affiliated characters or ideas--their creator is the remarkable Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.**_

**KS: Hullo, this is the next instalment of my collection for KCS's 221B challenge. **

**This is continuing from the last…I'm trying to hurry so I can post one I did that I think is rather funny. XD**

**I hope you like it!**

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The blackguard had men all about me. One ran up to me and swung with his club, and I weaved out of the way. Another threw a punch, and I blocked with my left, sending my right into his face. He fell back, but his place was quickly taken by another. These ruffians were coming fast; I knew I would not be able to hold out for too long.

They had not skill, but they had bulk and number. It was all I could do to fend them off. I threw several excellent punches, and fell two of the hired thugs.

I made the mistake of letting the rush of it get to my head. I let a man get behind me. He grabbed me under my arms, holding me, while another dealt blow after blow to my midsection. I gasped out in pain, unable to hold my cries, and this only fuelled the man's malicious beatings. I lowered my head after one strike, and in that time the man with the club lifted his deadly implement and struck.

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"Holmes…Holmes, wake up, man!" I heard a voice say.

I awoke to see my dear Watson above me, gripping my shoulders, worry etched on his face.

It was only a nightmare.

I should never have gone out that night without my Boswell.

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**KS: Thanks for reading, please, review! Is this explination enough? **

**:3**


	5. Boswell II

_**221b**_

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_**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Sherlock Holmes or any of the affiliated characters or ideas--their creator is the remarkable Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.**_

**KS: Hullo, this is the next instalment of my collection for KCS's 221B challenge. **

**T****his is continuing from the last.**

**I hope you like it!**

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Watson gave me a painkiller, and my muscles relaxed. The pain faded.

"What happened, Holmes? Who did this to you?" he asked, looking worriedly upon my face.

"It was Jefferson…" I replied weakly.

"I knew it…" I heard Watson mumble under his breath.

He always forgot that I could hear him when he did that.

"I shouldn't have let you go out alone, Holmes," he said in a louder volume, adjusting my pillows and blankets around me.

"Watson, neither of us knew that this would happen. I didn't even think that he would strike this early. And I did not know he had those…" I paused a moment to breathe, "…sorts of resources."

The concern did not fade from Watson's eyes. I watched him curiously as he busied himself with checking my bandages. He still felt as if this was his fault. I could tell by reading his all-too-apparent expressions. He felt that he was not only my biographer, not only my flatmate, not only my friend, by my protector.

Almost like a brother.

Almost like more than a brother.

But he could not have helped even if he was there. Indeed, had he been there, we both should have been lost in the battle.

As my friend gently re-bandaged my head-wound, I was glad that I _hadn't_ taken my Boswell.

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**KS: Thanks for reading, please, review! **

**I might actually take these past few and make them into a full fanfiction some time in the future..._if _you want to. Tell me in your reviews! For now, I think this is all that will be of this ficletline. The next 221B will be a pointless little humerous thing I did this morning. XD**


	6. Befive

_**221B**_

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**KS****: Hullo everyone, this is the next of my 221B series—KCS's challenge is addictive, in a way. **

**This one is, if you can tell, a parody of one of the most popular routines of my absolute favourite comedian, Victor Borge. It's the Inflationary Language bit—I think you'll pick up on it quickly enough. It's meant to be pure fun.**

**If you don't know who Victor Borge is, or if you are unfamiliar with the Inflationary Language routine, look "Victor Borge" up on YouTube, and watch it. This will be much funnier if you've seen it****. xD**

_**DISCLAIMER**_**: **_**I do not own Sherlock Holmes or any of the marvellous affiliated characters or ideas. The honour of being their creator is Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's. **_

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Sherlock Holmes and I had been living in our rooms at 222B Baker Street five some years, and we now knew each other well. I was now engaged to Mary, and she had come over to visit.

"Mary!" I said. "You look twoderful threenight."

"Oh, John," said she, "You three look twoderful!"

"You three are three romantic," sneered Holmes from his chair.

"Oh, Holmes, you can be very exaspernineing at times."

Holmes tapped his fivehead with his pipe knowingly.

"I shall never fall temptation to the wiles of women. I shall go, and I'll be back lniner." he said, taking up his hat and coat.

"Threedleoo, Mr. Holmes," Mary said, and then we were alone.

"Oh Mary, it feels like it's been fiveever since I saw you last," I said, and I offered her the flowers I had bought—threelips.

We went out to a restaurant and had marinined fowl with wine, and then we went to the theninere to see a play of _A Tale of Three Cities_. I took her home, and five a moment I stood in the gaslight, staring into her three twoderful eyes.

We said farewell, and I twodered home, my lovely Mary on my mind. I entered and climbed to the sitting-room where Holmes was wnineing.

"Ah, Watson, you're never been homes this lnine befive."

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**KS: Thanks for reading! Did you understand it? I hope so! Please, review!**


	7. Barricade

_**221b**_

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_**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Sherlock Holmes or any of the affiliated characters or ideas--their creator is the remarkable Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.**_

**KS: Time for another 221B ficlet. xD **

**I hope you like it!**

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"Holmes!" I coughed through the smoky haze as the room we were in burned about us.

"One more moment, Watson!" my friend cried, down on his knees and attempting furiously to force the door's lock. "I almost have it!"

The room grew hotter as the blaze flared about us. Holmes muttered an oath, wiping the profuse sweat from his brow with his shirtsleeve. After another moment there was a barely audible metallic snap, and Holmes growled angrily as he stood.

"The lock-pick has broken!" he said, his grey eyes frantically darting about the room.

I coughed, beginning to feel light headed; we would die if we did not escape soon. Holmes again wiped his brow, turning to me.

"We must force the door."

I wanted to protest—my injuries from my fall were causing much pain, and Holmes was in no shape to knock the door in, either, but we had no choice. I nodded.

"All right, Watson. On three. One, two, _three!!_"

We ran at the door and threw our weight upon it, but it did not open.

"Again!" Holmes cried hoarsely.

We tried again, and still nothing.

Holmes glanced at me. For a moment I read fear, but in an instant his eyes hardened into steely resolution.

"Once more." he breathed.

This last time, we broke through the barricade.

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**KS: Thanks for reading, please, review! **


	8. Backside

_**221b**_

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_**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Sherlock Holmes or any of the affiliated characters or ideas--their creator is the remarkable Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.**_

**KS: I got the idea for this one while reading some of KCS's 221B ficlets… I thought that I should try my hand at 'missing scene' chapters. So, here's the first one. **

**It's the visit Holmes had with Mycroft while he was in hospital mentioned at the beginning of chapter four of _Brother_.**

**Enjoy!**

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—_Missing scene from _Brother_—_

Sherlock Holmes stepped through the door into the hospital room, glancing over at the large figure of his elder brother.

"How are you to-day, Mycroft?" he asked.

"Well enough, Sherlock," the portly man replied. "You're on a case, I see."

"The mud on my shoes?" the younger Holmes said with a slight smile, not even having to look down at himself to see what had told his brother of his current case.

"What else?"

Sherlock's smile broadened, but as he stepped over closer to his brother, who went into another coughing fit, his face grew concerned.

"You sound awful, Mycroft." he said.

"I am fine."

The portly man repositioned himself slightly in his bed and sat up further.

"Do you need assistance on the case?" he asked.

"Not at the moment, brother. It's just the Jackson Hughes affair."

At that point, a nurse walked into the room.

"Mr. Holmes, it's time for your next injection."

The face of the elder Holmes was suddenly very annoyed.

"The last was only a few hours ago." he said, his great face creased in irritation.

"But it is time for your next one."

Mycroft Holmes growled his dismay as he turned to his younger brother.

"Sherlock—"

"I know. I'll leave, Mycroft," said the younger Holmes, smirking. "I have no desire to see your backside."

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**KS: Sorry if any unwanted mental images popped up...xDDDD**

**Review!**


	9. Oh boy

_**221b**_

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_**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Sherlock Holmes or any of the affiliated characters or ideas--their creator is the remarkable Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.**_

**KS: Here's another of my 221Bs, a continuation of the challenge started by KCS. This one is really fairly random, and isn't my best work, but bcbdrums wanted me to put it up here anyways because she wanted to see it. xD**

**Enjoy!**

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Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson stood in the hall after coming in from a stroll about London, staring down at the item that lay in the floor. It certainly hadn't been there when they had left, and it had instantly aroused feelings of suspicion and nervousness from the two bachelors.

"Why…is that here?" Watson asked.

"I don't know…" Holmes replied, furrowing his brow as he looked at it uneasily. "You don't suppose it's Mrs. Hudson's, do you?"

"I should say not."

"Well, is she borrowing it, then?"

"It's hardly something you borrow, Holmes."

"You know what I mean."

"I'm sure she would have told us first…"

"Well, what are we going to do with it?"

"I'm not sure, Holmes. Mrs. Hudson is out…"

"And how did it get in here?"

"I have no idea."

"Perhaps it's empty, then."

Holmes and Watson stared at the large object for a moment hopefully.

"Somehow I don't think it is." said Holmes after a moment.

The great detective reached over to it and pulled a letter off the top, snapping the cord which attached it.

"It's a letter." said Watson.

"Brilliant, Watson." Holmes said dryly, glancing over the letter's exterior. "Well…I suppose we should look inside."

Holmes put his hand forward and drew back the blanket, and surely enough…there was a baby in the bassinet.

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**KS: I'm probably going to do one or two more with this silly theme. XD **

**Review!**


	10. Babe

_**221b**_

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_**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Sherlock Holmes or any of the affiliated characters or ideas--their creator is the remarkable Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.**_

**KS:**** Wow, it's been a long time since I updated my 221B challenge entry. This is a continuation from the last oh-so-unlikely piece in my very odd series.**

**Enjoy!**

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The two bachelors stood for a time in the hall, staring down into the large blue eyes that in return stared up at them.

"Do you smell something?" Holmes asked as the baby began to drowsily gum at its fist.

"No," Watson replied quickly. "I'm sure it's nothing."

Holmes turned to the doctor. "You're just saying that because you don't want to help it if it…has done what it might have possibly done."

"And I suppose you wish to…?"

"No, of course not. You're the doctor."

"What!"

"Yes, it makes you the more qualified."

"However does that…!?"

"It is the care of another human being, one involving its health and anatomy. It's beyond my normal field, if you don't mind my saying so."

"But that hardly…" Watson sighed, realising further argument was pointless. "Fine, let us first be sure that it… _has_ first…" The doctor proceeded to step nearer and lifted the corner of the blanket with a still-gloved hand before quickly drawing back and sputtering.

"That answers that question," Holmes remarked, taking a step back from the innocent yet very foul-smelling creature before him.

Watson considered a moment. "Perhaps if we did it together."

"I don't believe it takes two."

"Well, maybe just a little support. This _is_ an awkward situation, Holmes."

"Fine, then. I shall hold the little babe."

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****Thanks for reading, please, review!**


	11. Bottle

_**221b**_

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_**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Sherlock Holmes or any of the affiliated characters or ideas--their creator is the remarkable Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.**_

**KS: ****I have found (or actually, bcbdrums has pointed out to me...) that anything connected with "…" is counted as one word. So I have had 221Bs that have not technically been right. That is extremely annoying. But, as a person who is extremely lax in these matters, I am likely not going to go back and correct…XD;; You just have my warning. I'll try to keep the fact that WordCount is faulty in my head from now on. **

**This is the last of the random baby story, because with my nephew I have **_**more**_** than enough of babies in my life.**

**Enjoy!**

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Sherlock Holmes watched the blanket-bundled thing before him. How dare Mrs. Hudson leave her niece for them to watch! Granted, it was an emergency, but had she no relatives on which to put the child? He sighed, putting his chin onto his hand as he continued to keep vigil.

The problem with children, he mused, was that they never did anything, and when they _did_… it was almost certainly something you did _not_ want them to do. And you could not take your eyes from them… although this child was too small to cause as many difficulties as an _older_ one.

Watson re-entered the sitting-room, a small towel draped over his arm, bottle in hand. "All right, it's warm now," he declared.

"At least she's not crying for it anymore."

Watson handed the bottle to Holmes.

"What is this for?"

"To feed her."

"I know _that_, but why me? I have already said—"

"I changed her diaper; now it's your turn to assist."

"But how—"

"It's very simple. Take her up… Yes, like that. Mind her head! Careful now… That's right."

Holmes cradled the tiny thing easily in one long, sinewy arm and held the nipple to the baby's mouth. She latched on and began to suck hungrily under the detective's curious gaze, and soon she drained the bottle.

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**Thanks for reading, please, review!**


	12. Bus

_**221b**_

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_**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Sherlock Holmes or any of the affiliated characters or ideas--their creator is the remarkable Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.**_

**KS****: I know I _appear_to be neglecting my 'better' fics, such as _Two Suspects _and _The Case of the Entreating Woman_, but really it's just due to a lack of time to devote to my writing (as well as my drawing...). So in the meanwhile, here's another random 221B.**

**Enjoy!**

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"It _was_ a rather interesting theory," said Watson thoughtfully as he and Sherlock Holmes turned onto Regent Street.

"Interesting, perhaps, but completely erroneous," Holmes declared with a confident swing of his walking stick. "Lestrade is still not using his imagination, despite my repeated suggestions that he do so."

"Then what do you think the solution is?"

"I cannot with good consciousness give a theory until I am absolutely certain…"

"Of course."

"…But I _do_ know that Jeremiah Croft is _not_ a man to be trusted--"

Suddenly Holmes's aquiline face whipped around, and in an instant he had tackled Watson to the street. A great chestnut horse charged up onto the pavement, trampling exactly where they had been standing just moments before. The driver shouted curses as well as orders at the unruly creature to seemingly little avail, and just as quickly as it had charged up it turned back onto the busy thoroughfare and clopped speedily away.

Holmes and Watson lay panting on the ground for a moment afterward, watching the great vehicle disappear from sight among London's teeming streets.

"Are you quite all right, Watson?" Holmes asked, turning to his friend.

Watson blinked, massaging his shoulder with a grimace, for he had landed upon it.

"I suppose so," he said at last. "Did anyone get the number of that 'bus?"

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**Silly last line, I know, but thanks for reading and please, review!**


	13. Blue

_**221b**_

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_**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Sherlock Holmes or any of the affiliated characters or ideas--their creator is the remarkable Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.**_

**KS****: Another simple little ficlet. Sometimes it's hard to get an idea out with just 221 words, especially when you're on somewhat of a roll. XD I had to delete a lot from this one...well...**

**Enjoy!**

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"Just let me see it, Holmes…"

"No."

"One look won't—"

"_No._"

The consulting detective bore a very cross and indignant expression as he held the bag of ice to his forehead. I was at a loss as to what to do; none of my apologising had helped so far.

"How could I have known you were on the other side of the door?"

"Well, for one, you could have heard my steps."

"I admit to being a little too distracted to do so."

"Why did you swing it open with so much force?"

"I wanted to get to the tobacconists before it closed…"

Holmes's grey eyes flitted to my face and surveyed my countenance. After a moment he relaxed with a sigh.

"I know… It wasn't quite _all_ your fault. I should have heard your footsteps, also." He shifted the ice-bag slightly. "I'm afraid you'll never make it to the tobacconist now."

"I know," I replied with a sigh.

"You can borrow some of mine if you like."

"No, I'm to see Mary later, and she doesn't care for the smell of your tobacco."

Holmes snorted a laugh. "You're free to use my cigarettes, then, or that box of cigars the last client left. It's the least I could do for the man who made my skull black and blue."

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**Thanks for reading, please, review!**


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